


Lovetruck Sickbed

by Entwife_Incognito



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Caretaking, Episode Tag, Episode: s07e04 Black Market, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Illness, Romance, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 21:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9678275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwife_Incognito/pseuds/Entwife_Incognito
Summary: A sort of tag to 704 'Black Market.' What happened when Lisbon brought Jane his soup at the Airstream? He may have been sick, but he probably welcomed Lisbon's special nursing touch. Just a little something to imagine the scenes they aren't showing us! /so stingy First person, Lisbon's point of view. Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.First posted at FFnet on December 21, 2014. Now here with minor refining edits.





	

Jane looked . . . pale this morning. Clearing his throat. I heard him gargling and peeked in. He spat and looked at me in the mirror, bed head flat on one side and wild stiff curls billowing like blond smoke on top of his head.

“Warm salt water. Always does the trick.”

“Is something wrong with your throat?”

“Nah. Just a little scratchy. I’ll be fine.”

“In all the years I’ve known you, I don’t remember you ever being sick.” I moved to lay my hand on his forehead and he ducked me.

“I’m not sick. I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay.” My high voice probably told him I was letting it go, even if I didn’t quite believe him. Or those sea green eyes under a knit brow, with their strange glassy glitter. Headache. Probably a little fever. Raised three little brothers. Did you forget, Jane? 

“Join me in the shower this morning?”

“Too late to the dance, Patrick. We’d be late.”

“Who cares? They can’t start without us . . . so?”

“Something tells me you need to conserve your energy. I’ll have some orange juice, some tea and toast ready for you at the table. Jam?” He needed a little cossetting.

“Marmalade? Do we have marmalade?”

“I’m sure we do.” Leaning into him a little, I held his shoulders and kissed just below his neck. “You know I’m not going to open a jar of that stuff, much less eat any of it.”

“Follain marmalade is not ‘stuff.’ It’s perfect.”

“It tastes like . . . --“

“It’s the perfect thing to digest with toast in the morning. Cures what ails you.”

“That’s it . . . medicine. So you are sick?”

“No! Don’t twist my words.”

Great. I’d put him in a bitty snit by insulting his marmalade. “Well, the new jar you bought will be open and waiting for you at the table.”

He pulled off his pajama bottoms and made me wish I were going into the shower with him. When he caught me looking, he stuck out his tongue and turned away. Right. “Bum’s just as good!” I called over my shoulder as I left.

We grabbed a case and Cho first thing and I drove us to the scene, Jane clearing his throat at frequent intervals. Did it again as I parked.

“You all right?”

“Yeah, just a little, uh . . . a little tickle in my throat.”

“You sound like you're getting a cold. You should see a doctor.”

“Oh, I don't need a doctor. Frauds in white coats.”

“Whatever. I guess marmalade is better. Just don't sneeze near me. The last thing I need is a cold.”

“Will do.” He got out of the car.

I caught up to him just as he bent over to sneeze, resting a hand on his back for a moment as I passed. “Why don't you go back to my place, jump into bed? I'll come tuck you in as soon as we're done.”

“No, I'd rather be here with you.” He straightened and caught up with me.

Later, I made him stay in the office while the rest of us went out to do interviews for the case. Patrick must have felt much worse because he actually let Abbott make him accept a ride home. I could just see everyone wiping down everything he touched. He called as I was breaking for lunch, wanting to see me. With the requested soup for him in my hand.

Over soup, he told me of his plan to force the killer’s hand. It was Patrick’s confidence in me, the happy pride in his eyes that made me believe I could carry it off. 

“But you’re too sick to come back to the office. You should stay in bed.”

“I’ll just lie on the couch. I’ll have them move it so I can watch you on the monitors. When you’re done you can pick me up and take me home. We can do this. Easy peasy.”

I acquiesced quietly with a tip of my chin and a pout. I didn’t want him working sick.

“I’ll be whispering in your ear the whole time.”

“Okay. But keep it civil.”

Backing his head away, he looked me skeptically in the eye. “Of course. We’re on the job,” and blew a little raspberry. Then, he looked at me again.

“Did you mean what you said about tucking me in . . .?”

I smiled at him. “No kissing. I don’t want whatever it is you’ve got.”

His response was a stifled snort. Who was I kidding? The germs in our relationship were completely shared, even without lips. But still. No sense tempting fate further.

He insisted on being on top.

“Patrick. Take it easy and let me have the reins. I’ll take good care of you.”

“But I want to feel my back working, your face in ecstasy right in front of me . . .”

I defy anyone to withhold from Patrick something he craves so passionately, pleads for so erotically, touching you into submission. He was inside me in a minute, giving me such pleasure . . .

I lifted my hips, slamming into each stroke as he dug into the hot meat of me with that feverish poker. Instead of getting a passionate flush, he seemed to pale.

“Ohhhhh. Light-headed,” he moaned when he rolled off me, a wet pop as we separated, He put his wrist to his forehead, breathing heavily.

“Are you all right? Do you need to get up for the bathroom?”

“Naaaaaahhhh. In a spin. In a spin. It’ll be over in a second.” He released a deep breath with a soft, “Woooo,” then smiled at me, peeking from under his wrist. “There! See? I’m all right.”

“Yeah. Flat on your back, you’re all right. That’s where you should stay.”

“Okay. You get on top.”

“Jane.” I used my best cautioning, stop-and-think voice. But his hot fingers were touching my swollen, slippery skin, toying with that nub of flesh until it poked from its little hood, excited and demanding satisfaction. I rubbed against his circling fingers, curling my hips until I’d forced them inside. “Ah!” Oh, hell. “Use your thumb,” I breathed helplessly as I positioned my hips to make it easy for him.

He stroked himself gently as he watched his fingers work, looked at the succulent opening that was ready for him and licked his lips. His nostrils flared, taking in my scent as he closed his eyes. “You need me inside you. You’re gripping my fingers. Feel how hot I am.” He took my hand and placed it on his shaft. Heat radiated from the heavy rod.

It made me want him and I submitted, groaning, "Oh god, Patrick . . ."

“Get on me.” The gravel in his voice betrayed his deep lust.

“You should let me do the work.”

“Yes. Work me, my sweet love. I’ll sleep like a baby.”

“Or you’ll just pass out.”

“Same thing.”

When I mounted him, we both moaned and sighed. Such a passionate relief!

Eyes closed, his voice was unbearably sexy when he rumbled, ”It’s a deeply erotic experience to have an excited woman connected to your body, seeking satisfaction. I wish I could do more about it.”

“Just enjoy this, sweetheart. We know I’ll be very excited again soon”

His crooked smile crinkled the skin surrounding his closed eyes and he emitted a soft, lazy growl.

I rode him into dreamland at a gentle lope, filled with his hot flesh. All his defenses were down, all the bravado, all the masculine force. I fucked him into kittenish noises, high and helpless and sweet, until he gave it to me with a whimper in a cadence of rhythmic sighs, then unconsciousness. 

So glad he didn’t wake up, I called Abbott, explained the plan and what we would need. “I’m going to change, pick up Jane and we’ll be there in about two hours.”

I let Jane sleep while I cleaned up and changed into one of the outfits I kept in his closet just in case. When I finished dressing, my hair and make up were perfect for the role, and I looked sharp.

Jane woke to a soft cloth and warm water as I cleaned his sweet resting flesh. I helped him stand and let him balance on me while I got his clothes up and fastened. “Take the afghan with you.”

He shuffled out to the car, his oversized knit babushka wrapping his head and torso. He slept like a child all the way in.

There’s nothing I love more than spending time with Patrick, no matter what we’re doing.


End file.
